Single Is The Tits

Sheryl is the main character in my Bellydancing and Beyond series and she like Nefertiti evolved from an old blog I wrote to get to know them better---Nefertiti being her belly dancing teacher/mentor.

So I decided to give her a bit of a spruce up, see if I can unearth anything new about my first great heroine for my next novel and here's what I found.

Single is the tits

A Sheryl Monologue

Nefertiti being pressed for time has asked me to be her guess—sorry ‘guest blog’.

Asked is probably not the right word as Nef has a way of putting things that makes ‘no’ not an option.

According to her being single means, hands I have time on my hands...

My mum has the same idea.

She reckons ‘time on my hands' is her passport to a 24-hour personnel assistant.

‘You can’t feel sorry for yourself if your arm is up a drain pipe,’ she reckons.

Feeling sorry for myself? Why would I feel sorry for myself? ...Being single is right up there with a good fish supper.

The only ring in the bath is my own- so no need to clean, and I can make a box of chocolates last as long as I want, who’s going to know if it only took me a rerun of ‘Corrie’ (Coronation Street) to scoff the lot, even the hard ones.

I am telling you single is the tits!’

Mum hates the words tits...Ironic really, as she swears like a butcher with Tourettes attacking a sirloin on Christmas Eve.

My mum is the sort of mum best left at home. Anywhere public to her is an opportunity to point out eligible men in a voice that can be heard over a pneumatic drill.

She’s the sort of person who thinks encouragement is listing your faults in order of preference.

‘Sheryl’ she says ‘You will never pull in a bra like that’; (Mum’s answer to everything is a good bra. Well that and a non-stick pan.) You couldn’t pull a cracker - even if a wrestler was attached to the other end.’

Well, the last thing I’d be doing with a wrestler is pulling crackers and I told my mother so. We were in The Stables at the time; a pleasant cafe that can (according to Nefertiti) make Nescafe almost bearable.

When Martin left me for the ‘body that defied gravity’ I was as gutted as a roll mop.

But not now, I get out as much as possible - once I’ve put mum to bed.

I’ve been on a few dates------met a one-eyed darts player from Cork. He had a great trick for putting his opponents off their aim——let's just say his glass eye was portable———with an invisible flick.

I met an army bloke at MacDonald’s whose idea of wit was to talk about “his weapons of mass destruction”.

Then there was the guy from the fish and chip shop whose idea of a ‘come on’ was to arrange two Scotch eggs and a battered sausage suggestively across my chips.

I was impressed until I saw his pickled eggs.

They were floating on the top of the jar like dead fish, a man with stale pickled eggs is a man best avoided——no matter how artistic he can be with batter.

And of course, there’s Shifty... he’s the barman at The Argyll; he is every woman’s dream barman.

He’ll remember your drink; remember your favorite song and late at night when you’re feeling lonely, his toothless grin will stop you from doing anything foolish.

Yes, being single can be a happening state of affairs as long as you keep a wide birth from well-meaning motherly types, and get a good look at a man’s pickled egg first.

And if you want more from Sheryl check out my latest reading below----enjoy